The Right Thing To Do

Chapter 6

The young man at the desk listened carefully as Galen told him exactly what he wanted and when. The idea was so unusual, he eagerly agreed and made arrangements to leave the desk for a short period. Galen went to his room and flopped on the bed. Preston wasn't a man to not have his way, and he hoped the visit to the bank would go as planned.

The rapping at the door woke him, and for a second he was at a loss as to where he was. The room was nothing like he ever stayed in before, then he laughed, remembering.

"I know it's late, Sir, but you said when, and this was as soon a time as I could manage."

Galen brought the young man in, waving off the apology. "What time is it?"

"Just past two in the morning, Sir."

"How did they turn out?"

"Oh, fabulous, Sir. Henry was over the moon over how they look."

"Let's see." Galen took the package and opened it on the bed, spreading the pictures apart. "Perfect. Well done . . .?"

"Edward, Sir. Barkley."

"Good job, Edward Barkley, What does your friend charge?"

"Sir, Henry said there was no charge. He was so excited to have done something he never even thought of - and he still has the plates - if that's alright."

"As long as he understands he can't show them to anyone - at least not for some time."

"I'll make sure, Sir."

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Galen rose early and stood at his widow, watching the street. He trailed his eyes over the rooftops and alleyways, looking for any sign of a trap that Preston might set. It would take some sand to shoot a man in the middle of the main street in daylight, but he felt Preston wasn't ruled by laws; his aims were driven by greed and anger.

He dressed, packed up all his gear and went down to the desk to check with Edward about the bank opening time. It was several buildings down on the same side of the street as the hotel, so Galen felt if he stayed close to his side of the street, he would only have to worry about what he saw from his room.

"Time to go, Edward. Thanks for all your help. If I could ask one more favour."

"Anything, Sir." Edward bubbled eagerly.

"Could you have my horse saddled and ready down by the telegraph office - without anyone noticin'?"

"I can do that. When?"

"About now, Edward, and here's a little somethin' for your trouble."

"Oh, I don't--"

"I do. Take it, son. You earned it."

Galen left, pausing to study the street again, then moved purposefully down the walkway to the bank. At the entrance he stepped aside, allowing two women to enter ahead, then expelled a relieved breath and walked to the manager's office.

"Are you Caleb Weston?" The manager shifted his glasses on his nose, reading the draft.

"No, Sir. Caleb Weston was killed, and I am delivering this money to his family. That letter was with these papers, and it gives the lady's name that he was hoping to share it with."

"Are you a relative too?"

"Nope. I found his body with all these documents."

"So . . . you say you will deliver this money to this- this . . .," he ran a finger down the page, "Lois Connor?"

"I aim to. The land mentioned is in Arrow Bend, so I'll head there first."

The manager removed his glasses and leaned back in his chair. "Why are you asking me to believe you'll do this, Mr. Helliwell?"

"'Cause it's the truth."

"But why?"

"It's the right thing to do." Galen opened his saddlebag and took out the package from Henry. "I'm givin' you this for your records, and for proof, if it's ever necessary. The original papers go to the sheriff." He handed over the package, indicating it should be opened.

"What are these . . . oh! Where did you get these?" He held up the post card-size pictures of the Preston papers.

"Pine Ridge has a very smart photographer livin' here. Gonna be a big name one day."

"I've never seen--"

"I'd like to be movin' on, Sir, if we could finish this business."

With another amazed look at the pictures, the manager slipped the package into his desk drawer and led Galen out to the teller's cage.

"There's your money, Mr. Helliwell. I have to say, I don't know many men who would do what you're doing."

"Well, I hope to get it done without any more trouble. Your town's Mr. Preston has a great dislike for me."

"Aah, I see," he nodded sagely, "you certainly aren't the first. Best of luck." He stuck out a hand and Galen grasped it.

"Just keep that package safe, in case." He tipped his hat and left the bank.

The sheriff's office was close by and he slipped inside, turning to see if anyone followed.

"You here to see your friend?" The sheriff drawled, dropping his feet to the floor from his desk.

"I'm here to give you these to see they get in the mail to the state land registry office." He dropped the papers on the desk. "I'd be obliged if you could do that without a lot of fuss."

"You can't?"

"Druther you did it, Sheriff. I'm a little occupied with a Mr. Preston right now."

"Preston. What did you do to start that?"

"That story I told you earlier, and those papers will answer all your questions. Right now I'm sendin' a telegraph to the territory seat - leastwise, if I make it to the office."

"I'll just go along for company, Mr. Helliwell. Shouldn't have no trouble. By the way, your friend's horse and his belongin's are around back. You still plan on takin' them?"

"I do. And you can let him go with a big fine, after I'm gone."

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Departure from Pine Ridge was uneventful, but Galen sensed that things wouldn't remain calm in the mind of Dieter Preston - not until he had exacted some kind of retribution.